


Poster Paint on Young Nude

by abstractconcept



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-08-12 17:22:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7942834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abstractconcept/pseuds/abstractconcept
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A PWP in which Harry and Snape prepare for a Christmas dance in the usual way, i.e. Harry does posters while Severus complains at length. But Severus reveals his artistic flair and a colourful evening is spent beside the fire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Poster Paint on Young Nude

**Author's Note:**

> I was craving writing a lovely smut scene, and spent the day going through hp_rimming being wowed by mooncharm, anise_anise, and various others, and came up with this. There isn’t a heck of a _lot_ of rimming, although that’s mostly what it grew out of, more…other messy activities, but I must say, this fic is probably the _me_ -est fic I’ve ever written. I have no idea whether or not that’s a good thing. *salutes* EVERYONE on their knees!

Harry stretched languidly before the fire, trying to let out the tension in his upper back. The red firelight played over his skin, sending ruddy gleams and momentary shadows flickering across his muscles as his lover watched, mesmerized.

“Aren’t you going to help at _all_ , Sev?” Harry asked plaintively, looking over his shoulder at the man. He was annoyed when Severus turned his face to his papers immediately, resuming the grading he’d been working on all evening. 

“I don’t see why I should,” Severus replied. “You are the one who foolishly volunteered to help with that ridiculous… _festivity._ And kindly do _not_ truncate my name in that abhorrent manner.” He tossed his head a little, trying to keep his hair out of his eyes as he read. 

Harry normally found the mannerism rather fetching, but at the moment it merely annoyed him. “This ‘festivity’ happens to be a big deal to a lot of the kids,” he pointed out. “Aside from the religious connotations, Christmas is a time for them to relax from the stress of the school year, and remember to appreciate each other a little more. It’s a _magical_ time, Sev.”

“There’s nothing _magical_ about a bunch of gawky teenagers milling about, trying not to seem as imbecilic as they actually _are_ , attempting to get up the gall to ask one another for a stumble round the dance floor. How that takes stress from their pitiful lives, I’m sure I don’t know. Aside from that, I not only protest the whole thing on the grounds of religious coercion, we’ve never _held_ a dance before. Why _now_? And STOP calling me that, you impertinent bed warmer.”

“Why _not_ now?” Harry responded airily, turning his attention back to his poster. “We have reason to celebrate, now that Voldemort is dead.”

Severus flinched at the name, but merely scowled afterward and said, “That’s what you said _last_ year when you organised that ridiculous Quidditch outing. And the year before that, when you helped with that ‘Fun Fly For Charity’ nonsense. I thought Dumbledore hired you to teach Defence, not parade about waving pom-poms and urging everyone to be cheerful.”

Harry paused in painting his Gryffindor lion gold to give Severus a piercing, green-eyed glare. “Would it _kill_ you to show a little holiday cheer? Besides, just because he’s been dead for a few years doesn’t make _me_ , for one, any less grateful. I’m still alive. You’re still alive. I figure I’ve got every reason in the world to be happy.”

Harry’s attention had returned to his project, so he didn’t see the way Severus’ face softened a little. “You just take any excuse you can to make life a merry little tea party, don’t you?” he responded gruffly.

Harry frowned at the poster on the floor in front of him. He’d been seeing Severus for more than a _year_ now, and the man had yet to meet him halfway. Harry did all the work; arranging his schedule to spend time with the man, doing things Severus enjoyed, like hunting down rare books, sacrificing his own hobbies and friendships for the good of their relationship. All Severus did in return was bugger him. True, he was _good_ at it, but…

“You’d suck at this if you had a chance, anyway,” he muttered, drawing a great black line down one side of the page; the beginning of the ‘H’ in ‘Hufflepuff.’

Severus’ eyes narrowed. “Pardon me? I think you’re conveniently forgetting which of us has the oral fixation.”

Harry shrugged tightly. “It’s not as if you’re creative or anything. You always go about like you’ve broom up your arse. Not exactly a model of imagination and artistic ability.”

Severus noticed the set of the boy’s jaw—well, he was a man in _technical_ terms, but Severus would forever think of him as a boy—and was silent a moment. “Potions is a very creative subject, Potter,” he announced in a lecturing tone, rising swiftly and crossing the room. “You’d know that if you had paid any attention at all when you were in my class. And there is a great deal of elegance, poetry, and aesthetic purity to the compound brew. I find it far more artistic than your silly sports and great leaping duels.”

Harry looked up, astounded. When Snape said he was grading papers for the evening, that’s what he bloody well did. He always put his work first, and Harry had never once been able to entice him away from it. Now, as the man towered over him, imposing and arch, Harry wondered if that was about to change. 

Severus knelt beside Harry in the thick carpet before the fire, reaching over to seize a jar of paint sitting near the Defence teacher’s elbow. “Tut, tut. Look at this. What would you call this colour? Muddy, spinach green? Vomit green? Terrible.” He reached into his robes and pulled out a vial, unstoppered it, and poured a few drops in the paint. Smoke poured from the lip for a moment, and then cleared. The paint inside had turned a brilliant bottle green. “And,” Snape added, “It is now non-flammable, non-toxic, water soluble, and…” he dipped a finger in, and licked a bit of the goop off, “Tastes of mint,” he finished.

Harry gaped. “Ew,” was all he could find to remark.

Snape laughed. “It’s actually quite good. It has no nutritional value, of course…”

“Your tongue’s green,” Harry pointed out.

“As are your eyes,” Snape replied, leaning forward. The heat of Severus’ gaze suddenly consumed Harry, and he gulped audibly. The man drew his long, elegant finger across Harry’s cheekbone, up and over his eye, knocking his glasses aside as he did so. They were summarily tossed aside. “The perfect shade,” Severus whispered. Harry closed his eyes, and felt Severus draw a swathe of paint over his lid with three fingers. 

He blinked, his left eye feeling heavy and chilled by the slick paint. Severus began unbuttoning Harry’s robes, and Harry stared at him. “Sev…?”

“Shhh,” Snape replied, pushing the scratchy wool material off his lover’s shoulders. “You did _want_ me to get creative, didn’t you? You’ve been pining for my attention all evening. Trust me, my lovely little serpent. You’ve got my _full attention_ , right now.”

Harry nodded wordlessly, and fumbled to help the man undress him. Clumsy fingers tripped over buttons, eager hands shoved unwanted cloth away. It was so difficult to be patient, when Severus was touching him with heated fingers, whispering lustful, encouraging words in his ear. “More, please,” he murmured, when Snape pressed fiery kisses down his neck.

“Restraint, my lickable creature. Restraint,” Snape responded, pushing Harry down into the carpet. “Roll over onto your stomach,” he ordered.

Harry, happy he’d have something to rub himself against, did so. Snape grabbed another jar, and a plume of smoke drifted down past Harry’s ear. He moaned loudly when a wet, cool hand caressed his neck, intricate patterns being deftly composed up and down his nape. He shuddered pleasantly when Snape leaned over to blow air gently on his creation, causing chills to run up and down Harry’s spine. “Wow,” he whispered. “That’s…wow.”

“You like that, do you?” Snape muttered, dipping his finger into the jar again. The container was near Harry’s head, and he watched the digit slip in and out obscenely, unable to hold back a slight moan. “Patience,” Snape hissed at him, now bringing that consecrated finger up to slide wetly over Harry’s shoulder blade. 

“Ooooh, _God_ ,” Harry sighed, his body trying to arch both into and away from that icy touch. 

A dry hand slapped his arse roughly. “Stop that! You’ll ruin my masterpiece,” Snape told him with not a little glee. He began rubbing the tinted concoction on Harry’s back once more, manoeuvring skilfully over hard muscle and smooth skin, the ridges of backbone, rib, and shoulder blade. Harry tried desperately not to writhe beneath the man, as Snape scooped up a daub of paint with his other hand as well, and began decorating Harry’s back in earnest.

“What are you making?” Harry whispered reverently. 

Snape merely hushed him. “You’ll see…you’ll see.” When he’d finished Harry’s back, he wiped his hands and grabbed up another jar, plunging his fingers into the grey-ish blue, and bringing them swiftly to Harry’s shoulder. Those agile digits made quick their work, small circles of paint seeming to overlap, working their way down Harry’s bicep, over his thin elbow, grazing the tender skin of his inner arm.

Harry watched, hypnotized by the feel and sight. “It looks like chain mail,” he murmured, when Severus had reached his wrist, rubbing the paint into the place of his pulse.

“It is. Very powerful, image magic,” Severus told him in a hoarse whisper. “It should protect you from almost anything.” The man’s eyes were very dark, and Harry could not tell whether he was teasing. “Sit up,” Severus ordered. He immersed his fingers in a jar of gleaming gold, next, and slithered them in a shining trail across Harry’s chest. “A Gryffindor shield,” he explained with a smirk, and Harry _knew_ he was teasing, but couldn’t bring himself to care.

Harry moaned when Severus smeared the thick paint across a nipple, and moaned again more loudly when his lover gave him a wicked smile and repeated the action. Severus dirtied both hands, now, coating them in the viscous substance, running his palms in something like abandon down his lover’s slender chest. Harry squirmed vigorously, eager for Snape’s now warm skin, and more of the slippery material to be rubbed on his rapidly flushing body.

“Oh, you _like_ that, don’t you, my silken canvas?” Snape hissed at him, dunking a couple of fingers in the creamy white paint, running them up and over Harry’s jaw and gently smoothing Harry’s face. “You’re very warm now, aren’t you?” He licked the tip of the young man’s nose, eliciting a gasp from wet lips. “Warm and wet and wonderful,” Snape continued, poking the tip of his pinky finger into a jar of rosy red, and smearing it liberally on Harry’s lips.

Harry allowed this for a moment, pressing a soft kiss to Severus’s fingerpad, then venturing to lick it briefly. “Spicy,” he murmured, and sucked the length into his mouth. He smiled around his prize when Severus gave a heartfelt groan, feeling for a jar with his other hand. He came up with the same colour, and swirled a finger artfully around the mouth, as Harry’s eyes widened above the one he kept trapped. 

Severus held up the shining red digit, drawing a line under Harry’s right eye. “Red…always the choice of lovers and enemies. The colour of madness, adoration, and passion.” Harry pursed his lips and sucked hard, causing the man to grasp his hair with trembling fingers. “It is, in every way, your colour, my enthralling siren.” He licked his thin lips. “Now…give me your leg,” Severus instructed, and lifted Harry’s foot into his lap. With a wicked gleam in his eye, he grabbed up the brush the Defence professor had been using on his now-forgotten poster, and submerged the bristles in the jar of bright green then brandished it with a flourish. “ _But_ ,” he stated, “However Gryffindor you may be, there is always some Slytherin in you.”

“Yes…usually, it’s _you_ ,” Harry joked, following the movement of the brush with his eyes. “Here, you’re not going to—AUGH! Stop! Please!” He jerked his leg fruitlessly, as Severus’s thin fingers clamped down hard around the ankle. The cold, feathered bristles tickled the arch of Harry’s foot, and he squealed and snickered.

“ _Most_ undignified, Mister Potter,” Severus pointed out with aplomb. “If you were still a student, I’d be taking points for your hyper drama.” He tried to suppress a smirk as he worked the tip of the brush over the ball of Harry’s foot, and into the tender area between his toes. Harry gave a shriek and attempted to kick Snape, but the man held on resolutely. With his tenacious grip shifted to hold a well-muscled calf, Severus slid the inky green fluid around the bony ankle, sliding sinuously up the leg until Harry’s spasms had calmed down. “ _Really_ , Potter,” he scolded with muted dignity, and ignored the other man’s scowl. 

Harry craned his neck, trying to get a better look at the painting, as Snape curled the brush all the way around his leg and kept on going—up and up, beyond the knee, round the thigh, a rising spiral adorning the milky flesh. Then he returned to the ankle and began another line paralleling the first, both fresh and green. “What are you making?” Harry wondered. The dark headed man merely narrowed his eyes in concentration, not answering, but realization dawned quickly when he began filling out the area within the borders with glistening scales. “It’s a snake, isn’t it?” Harry said in a hushed voice, revelling in the feel of the damp bristles working up the inside of his thigh. 

“Yesssss,” Severus replied with pleasure. “You seem to like snakes, Potter,” he added, eyes riveted to the erection swaying before him. “Shall I do another?”

“You’re not finished with the first,” said Harry with disappointment. He’d been quite looking forward to the completion of the other one. By the way it was angled, the head would had been right—“Oh. God! _Severus,_ ” he cried, as the brush, now thick with paint, circled his erection.

Snape merely laughed, and spiralled a path all the way to the head of the young man’s prick, swirling the goop thickly there. He ran his fingers up and down the length, forming flesh-toned furrows in the paint. “Hmph,” he chuckled. “Maybe I ought to have used pink or white. This makes it look as though you’ve caught some horrible disease.”

“Just don’t—stop touching me,” Harry begged, golden chest drawing ragged breaths in great, shuddering swells. 

“Oh, I _shan’t_ ,” Severus assured him, dipping his fingers in the gold on Harry’s chest, and bringing them down to fondle his balls. “There. _Two_ golden snitches,” he teased, as Harry’s head lolled back on his shoulders in ecstasy. “Oh, you filthy, shining work of art,” he whispered. “You lovely, wanton, modern David. What a pity my medium cannot be permanent. I should love for you to wear my decorations to the Christmas Ball.”

Harry merely whimpered, trying to manoeuvre himself so that those glorious hands were more than barely touching him. “More, Severus,” he pleaded. “ _More_.”

“I love it when you beg,” Severus replied, then picked up his brush and resumed filling in the snake that wound sinuously up Harry’s leg. Harry whimpered again, and Snape smiled broadly, a rather sinister sight. “Patience is a virtue, oh virtuous Gryffindor,” he reminded his lover, working each scale with agonizing attention to detail. Harry’s breath was beginning to come in shallow gasps by the time Severus was nearly finished, with just the snake’s head to complete. “Oh, you _are_ enjoying this,” he laughed quietly. “So responsive. Perfect.” 

He leaned over and grabbed another jar, forgoing the completion of his project to dip his fingers in, bringing them out dripping deep blue. “Where do you want it next?” he inquired, leaning back on his elbows, hands ruthlessly kept from the boy. 

“Anywhere, dammit!”

Snape leaned over until his body covered Harry’s. “Anywhere?” He licked up the side of the young man’s rib cage. “Here?” He followed its path with a finger. He crouched further forward to reach beneath his lover, and played his tongue along the taut stomach. “Or here, perhaps?”

“Good…fuck… _Merlin_ yesyesyes, _anywhere_ , more!” Harry begged, looking down at Severus, his eyes hazy with desire. 

“Here…or here?” Snape whispered, flicking his tongue into Harry’s bellybutton, and then across a nipple. He was now on his back, reaching his agile tongue up to meet youthful flesh, just barely grazing the skin, keeping Harry in a state of desperate need. Crawling out from under his lover, Snape began lapping at Harry’s thighs, following each slide of his tongue with a streak of paint. 

Harry was babbling now, a steady stream of cursing and hitched breaths coming from his mouth. His inner legs were feathered with blue paint, and still Snape licked him, pausing to nibble at his lover’s thigh. Severus snatched up the jar of green again, finishing up the head of the snake as Harry nearly wept in frustration. “One more…Mister Potter,” he whispered softly, drawing a line of glutinous green over one cheek, down the crack of his arse.

Harry keened loudly when Severus brushed his entrance once, twice, again. That slick-fingered hand took hold of one cheek and parted them, and he could feel Snape’s breath on his most sensitive skin. The man began feathering soft kisses across the heated silk, and Harry had to hold himself strictly in check to keep from bucking back. A maddeningly light kiss was pressed against his rosy entrance, and then the lips moved away. Another kiss, a sweep of a tickling tongue. Harry choked half-formed sentences out as Severus smiled against his flesh. “Never…youIyes… _please_ SevGod…don’tmorepleasemore,” he gasped, hips gyrating to push himself against his lover’s face.

Severus didn’t answer, but licked him more slowly and thoroughly. He pressed himself closer, working his tense, teasing tongue into that ring of muscle only to withdraw it again. Harry keened urgently at this, and Severus gave in and thrust his slick muscle more forcefully inside Harry’s arse. Harry didn’t even try to conceal the pleasure he felt at this, and Severus was pleased enough at the response to up the ante. His hand wound it’s way between the young man’s legs, and each shallow plunge was now accompanied by a quick tug on Harry’s cock. 

Harry cried out and shoved himself back, shameless in his need. Far from pushing the eager creature away, Severus’ free hand clutched Harry’s hip tightly, pulling him closer, squeezing almost to the point of pain, paint shoved far beneath the man’s nails. His lithe tongue was reacting to the young man’s need, jabbing voracious, rapid thrusts into the tight, hot channel. Harry was almost _mad_ , squealing and writhing on the lovely, wriggling appendage that he was impaled upon.

As if he knew how close to the edge Harry was, Severus gave one final twist of his tongue and backed off. “I want more than that, I think,” he gasped, bringing a green-laden finger to Harry’s arse and slipping a finger inside. Harry groaned and threw his weight backward, willing Severus not to play about anymore; he couldn’t take this for much longer. Confronted with green eyes that pleaded with him over a rigid shoulder, Severus gave in and placed the head of his cock where his finger had been. “Ready?”

“ _Now_ , god fucking damn it!” Harry swore, hips recoiling like a gun just fired. 

Severus couldn’t help but cry out in response, hands clawing at the smooth body beneath him, trying to find purchase. He had to drape himself over his younger lover and wind arms around him, tangling them both up in an awkward embrace, but he finally found a shoulder and angle of hip that allowed him to hold on and press forward. Harry rocked back on his erection, and Severus threw his head back, threw his hips forward. Soon they were moving in a ragged rhythm, both too caught up in their body’s lustful demands to care whether they made art, or love, or both, or neither.

Severus worked a hand free long enough to work the flat of his palm across Harry’s abdomen, to clutch his bicep, to caress his face. Harry mewled and rolled and leaned into the touch. “Little further,” Severus grunted, knowing his lovely images were quickly being obscured by thin fingers, shifting hips, and trickles of sweat. He gasped into Harry’s paint-thick hair, and pulled back to see the angel’s wings he’d drawn on the boy’s back, now ragged and running and ruined. 

One hand somehow found its way to the young teacher’s swollen cock, pumping and stroking and sounds of _God, YES, Severus sogoodsosogood, morerightTHERE—Se—Yesyesgo-goodyessss._ And the feel of scalding wet desire ran down and over and between his fingers. Severus’ hips continued to pound, until a cry of his own was rent from his lungs, and he filled his lover with his seed, that sweet arse still convulsing around him. 

Drowsily, Severus pressed a salty kiss to Harry’s temple. “When it comes to being creative, Potter, I am a _God_.” He heard the boy’s tired chuckle, and then fell into the sluggish vortex that was sleep, still buried in the thick rug before the fire, still engulfing Harry in his lanky limbs.

Since Severus’ rooms were in the dungeon, there was no over-bright sunlight, nor irritatingly chipper birds to wake them from slumber. And since the workout of the night before hampered Severus’ usual Alarm Charm, they were instead awoken by a shrill voice, and pounding on Severus’ door.

Harry, years younger, in better shape, and ever eager to take on danger, went from prone and dead to straight up and fumbling for glasses in less than a second. “I’ll get it,” he muttered sleepily, and Severus grunted in response. The man heard Harry make his way to the door, heard the creak of ancient hinges, heard the intake of air, heard—

“AAAAUGGGH!” 

The door slammed violently shut, and Severus’ brow wrinkled. What the devil had _that_ been about.

“Sybil Trelawny,” Harry gasped. “She totally freaked on me.”

An onyx eye opened a slit, before sliding shut once more. “Yes. Well. Try to see things from her perspective. God knows what she _thought_ she’d find, but half of a Harry Potter, face white, green, and blood red, a great snake half up his leg, hair matted and red, nearly _nude_ , and opening Severus Snape’s chamber door probably _wasn’t_ among her predictions.”

Harry tilted his head. “What… _half_ a Harry Potter?”

“You grabbed up the wrong robe, fuckwit,” Severus replied, never inclined to be gentle in the mornings, or afternoons, or ever. “And you look like hell.”

Harry looked down, realized he was wearing his Invisibility Cloak, and blushed behind the paint. “Well. Uh. What was she doing down here, anyway?”

Severus rolled over, squinting at the young man with annoyance. “Possibly because we missed breakfast, our morning classes, and lunch as well,” he said tiredly, gesturing to the clock above the mantle. 

“Oh…fuck. I’m sorry,” Harry said.

Snape gave him a crooked grin. “Oh, you’ll find some way of making it up to me, I’m sure. You generally do, even if I’m well established as the _creative_ one. Besides, I can’t wait to hear what Albus makes out of her ‘vision.’”

Harry eyed the man speculatively before heading for the shower. “Severus?” his voice called a few moments later, floating out on a cloud of steam. “What do you know about sculpting?” 


End file.
